


rhythm and blues

by Zekkass



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-War, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Spark Merges, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tactile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 09:49:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5535365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zekkass/pseuds/Zekkass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassetticon carriers reproduce a little differently than your average mech: they need a third.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rhythm and blues

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, Pan! :D This is entirely for you, from the weird Cybertronian spark fanon to Blaster calling Soundwave a tool. It's set after S2 of G1, in a weird peace AU where the movie didn't happen (a treaty did instead) and our favorite robots are stuck rebuilding and repopulating their home.
> 
> Please, please enjoy!

"Say that again, slower," Jazz says with one hand cupped against his audials. "Not sure I caught your meaning there."

Blaster gives him a weak and watery grin, his own hands spread in a helpless gesture. "Not sure how I can make it any plainer, but I'll walk you through, step by step. The second the treaty hit the table, Soundwave started thinking about where the symbiote-carriers fell in the repopulation process, and I'm sad to say it, but he and I are _it."_

"Right," Jazz says. "So unless a neutral carrier pops out from behind the nearest star, whatever happened between you two has to get buried so you two can get to fraggin'. I got that much. Where do I come into things?"

"Carrier sparks are finely tuned," Blaster says, gesturing to his chest. "Most mechs get by with sparks tuned to one or two specific frequencies, and they can't retune themselves, either. That's where the whole soul-sparks concept comes from, believe it or not - but carriers can retune their own sparks. We've got to harmonize with our cassettes, or they aren't symbiotes."

"You're kidding," Jazz murmurs. Most of the Cybertronian sub-types have had wildly varying beliefs on sparks and how they work, but he's never heard the carrier take on things before - not exactly the kind of chat that comes up in the galley in-between missions.

"I'm not," Blaster says. "Every time one of my cassettes docks, we merge sparks. It's usually brief, but you know merging safety protocols - do it too often with a spark that's wildly out of tune with yours - "

"You get a lecture from Ratchet," Jazz finishes with a sigh, and Blaster grins.

"You got it," he says. "Discord, chaos, your chest aches for weeks while your spark finds its own rhythm again - and Primus help you if you try to merge while you're recovering, because Ratchet sure won't."

They share a rueful smile - and Blaster resets his vocalizer.

"So what's this have to do with Soundwave? I'm glad you asked, faithful listener. Retuning our sparks is all well and good, but the process is finicky as Pit, and twice as uncomfortable. So do the math with me: a pair of carriers with specially tuned sparks so they can support multiple merges with their symbiotes want to do the horizontal tango. Everything's fine and dandy with that - assuming they don't wind up on the opposite sides of a war, anyways - up until they decide they want sparklings. Spark-lings. Tell me, faithful listener: what do you need to make the magic happen?"

Jazz considers - it's not as obvious an answer as one would think - "Well, with Vector Sigma locked up tighter than Red Alert's office, we're all stuck with the traditional methods - when a car loves another car very, very much, they merge sparks, and 'spark' a new one if they're very, very lucky. Or you sprout wings and lay eggs. Or you build a frame and give it everything but a spark, and treat it like a full Cybertronian until it inexplicably sparks one. Or you use any of a whole host of weird ways to make more of us. So - what do carriers do?"

"Use a proxy," Blaster says, tone turning serious, losing the cheerful DJ air. "Your typical Cybertronian can merge as many times as they want to with the right partner. Carriers can't without a retuning - and let me tell you, a single merge with another carrier is _not_ worth the hassle of retuning your spark to a full case of cassetticons."

"And that's the math," Jazz says, picking up the thread. "Merging enough times to trigger a sparkling is a hassle."

"If we were the last two Cybertronians on Earth, we could do it," Blaster says. "Wouldn't be fun or easy, but we could do it - but we're not the last two on Earth, and we've got another way to do it. Which is where you come in."

"I'm the proxy?" Jazz guesses, and Blaster gives him thumbs-up - but the nerves are back in his field. "How's that work?"

"I retune my spark to match yours as if you were a new symbiote," Blaster says, watching him closely. "Soundwave does the same. Then we merge. A lot. In a specific sequence, so that when you spark, it's a carrier's spark, with traits from the three of us."

Now it all clicks. Jazz is silent for a full klik as he turns the idea over in his processor, looking at it from all angles. Leaving aside the symbiote aspect for a moment, he's being asked to merge with the both of them multiple times. Then bear their sparkling.

"...I think I can fill out the rest of the details," he says. "You'll frag me, too, so I've got the right combination of transfluid on hand for the protoform. And you'll want to do this more than once."

Blaster nods, watching him closely, and Jazz resists the urge to step back - he's not against the idea. Fragging's fun, and merges are one of the best possible ways to get to know a mech.

But - 

"Two questions, Blaster," Jazz says. "Does Soundwave know you're talking to me about this? And why me - would any mech do as a proxy, or were you looking for a mech with sound systems like mine?"

Blaster actually smiles - a good sign. "Soundwave and I talked it over - we picked you as the best candidate from both sides. I trust you, he respects you, that's the best foundation we'll find for a mate in this situation."

"And you like me," Jazz says, slowly relaxing.

"That too, Jazz." Blaster says, smile turning into a grin. "That too."

//

"It's up to you," Blaster had said, hours ago. "I can be there, I can wait outside, I can narrate the entire event for a select audience. What isn't up to you if the order: Soundwave has to have the first merge."

"Makes sense," Jazz had said at the time. "What do you want, Blaster?"

It had been a trickier question than he'd intended: Blaster had stalled, looked away. "I'd rather wait outside."

Sore history, Jazz figured. He'd tried to be understanding, had taken Blaster's hand and kissed it, then leaned in and kissed him, intending this to be prelude into a little light fragging, something nice and simple - 

"No," Blaster had said, and Jazz had stopped. "I - traditionally I shouldn't even touch you until he's had you first."

"We're not following traditions," Jazz argued, pushing gently, because Blaster clearly needed the comfort. "No Council'll swoop down to tell us we're doing it wrong."

"Soundwave will find out," Blaster had said. "Sorry, Jazz."

And now - glowing optics meet his visor across a dark room, and Ravage jumps up onto his berth with a fluid grace that Jazz envies. He sits up, watching her, wondering at the changes since the treaty was signed - he's not afraid at all.

There are tensions, still - but not between mechs who'd pass each other in the night and let each other go when they could bend the rules of engagement a little.

He waits for Ravage to break the ice, watches as she has a seat.

"Soundwave approves," she says after letting the silence stretch unbearably. "Tomorrow we'll be equals."

"We're not equals now?" Jazz asks, a teasing grin appearing on his face as she gives him a disdainful stare. "C'mon, Ravage. I've caught your tail as often as you've caught my aft over the years."

Ravage reaches out, putting a paw on his thigh.

"Are you nervous about the merge tomorrow?" Jazz asks, taking a wild leap. Her claws extend.

"We're going to be part of the same host," Ravage says - so it's not about Soundwave's safety.

"Blaster didn't exactly explain how that would work," Jazz says. "How big a deal are we talking, here?"

"You're not a symbiote, so your coding won't respond to the merge the same ways ours will," Ravage says, claws retracting. "But Soundwave will regard you as one, and our sparks will recognize yours as a member of the same host."

"What's that mean, in practical terms?"

"We'll look out for you," Ravage says. "So will Blaster and his host."

Jazz takes a klik to digest that. This won't be the kind of bond he can undo in a single night, and looking at it from one way - he's earning brownie points for the longevity of the peace, forming a living bridge between two estranged portions of the population. Looking at it the other way - it's a close, messy tie to two separate groups of mechs with ugly history between them.

"What do you think?" Ravage asks.

"I'm honored to be selected, and scared out of my processors," he says finally. Ravage's field flicks out - he jolts, unaccustomed to its presence - and teeks against his, sharing satisfaction.

"You'll be alone with Soundwave," she says. "But we'll be nearby."

"I won't hurt him," Jazz says with complete sincerity, far too aware that to plan otherwise would end with at least two deaths.

Ravage scratches the blue over his pelvis with a quick, violent gesture - but before he can get his knives up there's the whisper of a purr as she fades back into the dark.

"...Guess I passed that test, huh?" Jazz murmurs, dropping his weapons back into their sheathes. "See you around, Ravage."

//

The coordinates arrive fifteen kliks before the appointed hour, along with a two word invitation - Jazz has to roll his optics, it's just so _typical_ of Soundwave's typical efficiency he could almost forget he's going to meet up with his opposite on the Decepticon side to share sparks.

Blaster meets him outside the designated building, waving as Jazz transforms back into rootmode.

"Wasn't sure you'd actually come," Blaster says with a nervous laugh, and Jazz falls into step with him, walking into the building they've reclaimed for this - it's an old abandoned resident on the west side of Iacon, unremarkable to his sensors.

"No way I'm missing out on this," Jazz says cheerfully, circling the communal dispenser in the main room. "Prowl gave me the okay," he adds in a lower tone. "So did the rest of command. We're in the clear, assuming Soundwave's on the up-and-up."

Implied: Prowl and Red Alert know where they are. Implied: they've got backup if this turns into a trap. Blaster doesn't look reassured, but those implications weren't for him, they were for Laserbeak, and Ravage, and whoever else is lurking in the dark corners of the building.

"Good news from the top," Blaster says with faux-cheeriness. "But that's enough of us talking shop - Soundwave's upstairs, and he's eager to see you. Do you want me in the hallway, or down here?"

"Like I said," Jazz says. "Go where you're comfortable. I'll comm if anything happens."

He slides up to Blaster, shares a little comfort with a quick brush of his field, then hurries upstairs, excitement warring with nerves in equal measure. He's not ready for the merge, may never be at terms with the concept - like he told Ravage, he's honored, he's terrified. Prowl had told him too - don't mess this up. It's a tactically sound way to lock down Soundwave and further cement their still-fragile peace.

"And what about you - us?" Jazz had asked him.

"Securing Soundwave as an ally is more important," Prowl had said. That had been that - at least until Jazz got a chance to run the idea of polygamy past Soundwave.

Jazz blows hot air out his vents as he approaches the right room, marked by Ravage's presence by the door. "Hi," he says, not liking how it feels like an approach to a trial.

Ravage doesn't respond, only reaching out to trigger the door before she slinks away, fading in with her surroundings.

So - that's it. Jazz steps inside. Soundwave's there, standing next to an empty berth, visor trained on his face.

Soundwave's shoulder-mounted minigun is nowhere in sight, likely removed and dropped into subspace. It's probably a gesture of goodwill, intended to put Jazz at ease, but the strangeness of Soundwave's naked shoulder just cranks Jazz's nerves further into the stratosphere. He takes another step inside, noting the soft whoosh of the door closing behind him. Trap closed and sealed. He's ready to meet the judge.

Maybe he's not ready to merge with Soundwave. He's spent most of his lifespan thinking up ways to get inside Soundwave's processors and predict what he'll do next - and here Soundwave is, probably picking out every private thought of his since he deliberately deactivated the white noise generators and a thousand and one other defenses against Soundwave's infamous telepathy.

"Jazz," Soundwave says, collecting Jazz from his thoughts with a word and a gesture - he curls his fingers towards himself, a deliberate summons.

"Were you listening?" Jazz asks, walking up to Soundwave, the question curious instead of hostile. He stops directly in front of Soundwave, optics widening behind his visor at the sensation of Soundwave's field flickering over him. He's not just standing at the edges of it, he's standing _in_ it.

It's unfiltered, causing further embarrassment - Soundwave's sharing everything, starting from the grim devotion to duty, the flash of fear at exposure, all the way down to the sense of smug confidence - 

"Son of a motherboard," Jazz says. "You're going to make this work even if I whipped out a bomb during the merge."

"Correct," Soundwave says.

"Repopulating Cybertron is that important to you?"

"Additions: important to cassettes, Megatron. Benefit: Blaster, willing to move on from past events."

"Which I'm real curious about," Jazz admits. "I've never seen a mech less happy about having sparklings before."

"Blaster: understands necessity of carrier sparklings. Advised: focus on me," Soundwave says, and his battle-mask slides back with a snap.

Jazz startles again, caught off-guard by how naked Soundwave looks without his trademark weapon and mask - frag, he hadn't even known Soundwave had a face-plate under there.

Soundwave curls a finger under his chin, and draws Jazz forward into a kiss. It's chaste, just this side of clumsy before Jazz takes over, kissing Soundwave harder, finding it hilarious that for all of the confidence Soundwave's showing that he doesn't know how to _kiss_ \- he gets a bite for that, laughs at the annoyance in Soundwave's field.

"Don't worry about it," he says as Soundwave takes his wrists, enjoying the thrill of panic at the gestures. "Just follow my lead."

His hands are brought to the button above Soundwave's front window - Soundwave murmurs a command: "Experiment," and so he does, attempting to twine his glossae with Soundwave's as he deliberately ignores the button to run nimble fingers along the lines where clear crystal meets solid metal, tracing out the entire window and further down, enjoying the cheat-sheet of Soundwave's field - it flares with pleasure whenever he does something right, and he slows only when he feels the crack-zing of charge against his fingers.

"Why am I not surprised that your fans run silent," Jazz asks as he opens up his own field, mingling in a prelude to the merge proper, hands resting over the medley of buttons on Soundwave's torso. "Are these fair game?"

"Denied," Soundwave says, and Jazz moves back up, pausing when Soundwave puts one hand on his front bumper.

"Go for it," Jazz says, shivering as Soundwave unerringly seeks out a headlight and rubs over the thin crystal. It's terrifying, numerous subroutines waking up to scream at him about the Decepticon with fingers against one of his delicate sensory clusters - and it's scarier still when he has to shut them off.

"Jazz: not in danger," Soundwave says.

"Soundwave: Decepticon," Jazz says, leaning in to steal a kiss before he continues. "It's okay. I'm okay. Keep going."

He remembers to continue his own exploration, even with Soundwave's fingers sliding up his bumper and over metal that's rapidly heating up, sensory grids lit up and registering every twitch of Soundwave's frame against his.

"Advised," Soundwave says as he presses his palm to sensitive protoform under Jazz's bumper. "Merge: soon."

"Yeah," Jazz says with a slow vent, fans whisper-quiet as his own internal temperature ticks up. "As nice as this is, I'd hate to get your panels back and find out our sparks aren't compatible."

"Situation: impossible," Soundwave says as he carefully leans in, glossa tracing a strip down Jazz's chin, over his neck cabling. "Point: understood."

Jazz dims his visor in pleasure, then stills as Soundwave abruptly steps back, pressing the button himself: his chest compartment opens up, dropping down as if to deploy a cassetticon, then opening further, hanging down against his torso.

Jazz's visor brightens back up as he stares into Soundwave's chest compartment, picking out the grooves in the dock where the cassettes rest if they aren't brought up into his subspace. And behind that - thin metal parts, spirals open to reveal Soundwave's spark in its casing.

Soundwave's watching him.

Jazz isn't one to stand up a partner. He straightens, bumper parting - his spark is so far back that it often feels like a surgery just to reveal it, but the thick plating surrounding it on both sides has saved his life more often than not.

His bumper slides down, sensory grid going offline in those areas, and he parts the thin protoform over his spark-casing, revealing the essence of his being.

Soundwave studies it, or seems to, and Jazz returns the favor, fascinated by the timing of Soundwave's spark pulses. They seem irregular - but what does he know about carrier mechs? He's never merged with Blaster, never gone beyond tactile fragging, and if Soundwave's spark isn't healthy he'll find out in a moment.

"Is this going to hurt?" Jazz asks as Soundwave draws in at last.

"Discomfort: lasting until tuning complete," Soundwave says, and their sparks enter each other's orbit - 

Jazz's optics crash into white, his entire being subsumed into a rhythm he doesn't recognize, systems shutting down to avoid errors, to save themselves from the reverberations of a spark that doesn't fit, that isn't meant to come close to his - 

The tempo changes, the beat speeds up, slowly Jazz realizes that he's hearing a harmony, five different notes and it's not music, it's not something his audials can pick up but it's the only way to explain it, the way Soundwave's spark pulses in what look like uneven spikes because it's singing five different parts, and now six - 

They fit together.

Jazz's optics boot back online, showing him Soundwave's optics - he wants to say something smart about retracting visors, but his vocalizer isn't here, it's missing - 

Soundwave soothes him, and in _this_ arena he is clearly the master, easily separating Jazz from his fear, showing him the way their sparks sing together, acknowledging the oddity of their injuries - Soundwave's destroyed vocalizer, the replacement he's used for so long he wouldn't recognize his original voice, the depth of his devotion to Megatron - so far that he uses his leader's voice as the basis for his own - and Jazz's optics, non-functional without the visor, lost in some battle along the way, none of his optical capabilities sacrificed thanks to the flexibility of Cybertronian systems - Jazz's ownership of the visor, Soundwave's mastery of his new voice - 

Surface details that speak volumes.

Now the exposure sinks in, and with it Jazz can _feel_ Soundwave's resounding affection, his recognition of familiar elements - to Soundwave Jazz is an amalgamation of Frenzy and Rumble's irreverence, Ravage's lethal grace, Buzzsaw's vicious protective streak - all of them, even hints of Ratbat's pride - recognition, too, that Jazz isn't a symbiote, is a vicious enemy he's matched wits with for milennia, that he's never fully understood.

It's too close, too much. True discomfort blooms as Jazz realizes he's being studied, that Soundwave might figure him out this time - 

Soundwave lets Jazz pull back, breaking the merge easily. His optics reboot, and by the time his vision clears Soundwave's stepping back, visor back in place.

"Whoa," Jazz says shakily, whole frame gone to jelly. "Intense."

"Suggested: recharge in same berth," Soundwave says.

"Sounds good," Jazz says, raising his hand to his face. He's still himself, even if already he can feel how much he's missing Soundwave's comforting presence in his spark. "What about the fragging?"

"Interfacing: unnecessary. Comfort: required. Merges: to be repeated, often."

"...Yeah," Jazz says, bumper closing back up as he slides down into the berth. His whole frame aches, and that's not _normal_ \- is it? "Am I supposed to ache like this?"

"Spark: perhaps too carefully chosen. Jazz: reacted as true symbiote."

"What does that mean?" Jazz asks, looking up at Soundwave, who's putting his own chest compartment back together.

"Jazz: misframed?" Soundwave sits with him, and despite the Decepticon energy signature none of his defensive subroutines attempt to warn him about Soundwave's proximity. "Proxies: typically guests."

"Not sure I understand what you're trying to say," Jazz says slowly. "I'm comfortable in my frame. I _like_ being what I am."

Still - he leans sidewards, brushing shoulders with Soundwave. His field settling around him feels comforting, defying all of his rational thoughts and instincts to tell him that he's safe.

Soundwave doesn't answer that, the faint buzz of a commed conversation tickling at Jazz's sensory horns.

Jazz vents, and takes a guess - "Is Blaster coming up?"

"Blaster: meant to merge after recharge," Soundwave says. "Suggested: hurry up and rest."

//

Soundwave is gone when Jazz wakes up, a familiar red boombox lying on his other side instead.

"Top of the morning, Jazz, rise and shine. You've got another merge coming at you as soon as you decide you want to be mine."

Jazz rolls over onto Blaster, kissing him as part of an amused good morning gesture.

"DJ mine, you've got to work on your wake-up calls."

"Jazz, I can't lie. I've been thinking about you since Soundwave said goodbye."

"Soundwave left?" Something close to panic flits through him, an unfamiliar urge in his spark. Blaster takes the back of his helm and guides his head down to rest against his chestplates, petting behind his sensory horn until he calms.

"He's nearby, waiting until I give the all-clear to come back. We'll take care of you, so just relax."

It's Jazz's turn to give Blaster a weak laugh - "I didn't realize it'd feel like this."

"We didn't know you'd respond like this. Jazz, you're a bonafide certified symbiote spark. Don't ask me how it works, just trust me when I say you've got us eating out of your hand."

"You haven't seen my spark yet, Blaster."

"Soundwave's no fool, even if he is a tool."

Meaning Blaster trusts Soundwave's word when it comes to sparks. Jazz lifts his head enough to search Blaster's optics, realizing now that Blaster's field is as open as Soundwave's was - and moreover, he was so comfortable in it that he didn't notice.

He resets his vocalizer, suddenly awkward in the face of Blaster's transparency.

"When are we going to merge, Blaster? Now?"

"As soon as you give the word."

There are countless questions Jazz should have asked before he fell into Soundwave's spark. There are questions he should ask now, about Prowl, about the history between the two carriers, about what it means that he _misses_ Soundwave.

But he nods. It's too late to stop now, and he's not afraid of Blaster.

"Open up," Jazz says, tone deliberately teasing. "Soundwave's spark had a good beat to it, but I bet yours is even catchier."

"You know it," Blaster says, tone all confident despite his field's show of nerves. Stage fright? Jazz answers it with his own confidence that they'll fit together. If he's matched wits with Soundwave for as long as they've been at war, he's been working with Blaster just as long, ping-ponging crew morale and Decepticon ciphers between them - and he's had the benefit of friendship too, the easy give and take that means Blaster could come to him first about this whole plan, and that Jazz could go into a merge with Soundwave with incomplete information.

Jazz catches Blaster in a kiss, finds relief when Blaster doesn't chase him away this time.

"Relax," he murmurs, hands beginning to roam. It's a mirror to Soundwave - Blaster's chest compartment protrudes out where Soundwave had a recessed window - but he needs to set aside comparisons.

Well, one more: Blaster knows how to kiss. Jazz opens his mouth obediently when Blaster presses his glossae in, moans as sensory nodes are sought out and teased with quick flicks.

"Nn!" Jazz doesn't hold back on noises, touches his glossae to Blaster's before he lets him keep the lead - clever fingers play with his curves, unerringly tracing paths over his frame that match his sensory grid exactly. He's an instrument in Blaster's hands, and he arches on command, temperature soaring.

"Ready now?" Blaster asks a few kliks later, when Jazz's fans are nearly audible.

"Yeah," Jazz says, voice crackly with static. He leans back to give him room, bumper parting as Blaster extricates his hands from under sensitive plating, fingers helpfully dancing over near-invisible seams before he has to stop touching Jazz in order to open up his own compartment, door flopping down obscenely.

Jazz reaches out, touching the inside of the compartment, tracing out the grooves and the stylized cassette reader. He pulls his fingers back fractionally as the reader folds away into the walls of the compartment, revealing Blaster's sparkcasing, which spirals open.

"No time like the present," Blaster says, field shot through with anxiety, and he takes Jazz's shoulders, guiding their sparks together in a single sudden motion.

It's harder than the last time, multiple systems shutting down to protect themselves and leaving Jazz without any sense of the space around him for far too many kliks as Blaster's spark follows its own rhythm, only matching up with Jazz's in irregular pulses - it's too much, too discordant - the beat shifts, slows, finally matches his.

Blaster's humming when his audials come back, a human tune Jazz begins to hum himself, filling in the harmony as their sparks slot together, finding the same rhythm.

"Is that _Queen?"_ Jazz asks, laughing as he picks out the different notes in Blaster's spark. "Did you - did you retune to _Under Pressure?"_

"Gonna hold it against me?" Blaster asks, relief flooding his field - now Jazz understands the nerves, the stage fright.

"Not if it helped you pull that off," Jazz says, leaning further into the merge, catching Blaster in a quick kiss.

Here, in the merge, it's easy to understand: Soundwave is a looming presence in Blaster's mind. The emotional tags Jazz can access involve inadequacy, grief, all of the permutations of anger. Blaster lets him look, doesn't shepherd him as Soundwave did - here Jazz feels more like an equal, less like a victim of a controlled storm.

"Blaster," Jazz says, aware that this isn't his place, unable to completely ignore what he's seen, "You've got a completely different style from Soundwave."

"And you know it," Blaster says, letting Jazz's well-meaning comment pass through without touching it.

"That's the way you want to play it?" Jazz asks, and Blaster steers him away from Soundwave, examines his own spark - the sense of exposure is back, but it's _Blaster,_ someone he trusts. "You're not going to have much fun in there if you look too hard," he warns.

Blaster gives him a wry grin, shakes his head.

"It's just a surface scan. See what's on your mind, answer any questions. Soundwave probably gave you the same thing."

"I panicked when he tried," Jazz admits.

"And ended the merge early?" Blaster reaches up, pressing his palm to Jazz's forehead in a gentle gesture. "Jazz, my mech, we've got to work on your trusting spirit." - but for all of the teasing there's an undercurrent of understanding, a shared fear of being exposed like that to Soundwave. Jazz leans forward into the touch, visor glinting.

"So tell me, what am I thinking?"

Blaster rubs a thumb over one of Jazz's sensory horns, gives his spark a look.

"Listener mine," he starts, "A merge isn't carte blanche into a mech's memory banks. It's impossible to untangle emotional tags, and it's a two-way street. Only the desperate and the sadistic risk merging for information."

Jazz dims his optics, leaning into the touches. This is all familiar information, white noise that's helping Blaster ground himself.

"If Soundwave found a way to bypass that, we would've seen it in use before," Blaster says. "And he's sincere about the peace, Jazz. Let him in. Everything I just told you about symbiote sparks still applies - "

"How _does_ that work?" Jazz murmurs.

"Tuning for you felt like adding a new cassette," Blaster says. "Even if I am full up on slots. If we'd merged with Tracks instead - " Jazz winces at the thought of Tracks facing Ravage's scrutiny. " - It'd take longer. There'd be a higher risk of failure. We'd all have to work harder to be comfortable with each other."

"In other words I skipped the dating and went straight to the bonding ceremony," Jazz says.

"Far as our sparks are concerned - yes," Blaster says. "But we're not bonded. Proxies don't have to be. You're still on the market, Jazz."

Jazz tilts his helm out of Blaster's hand. "Is Soundwave going to back that up?"

"We're tuned to you, not the other way around," Blaster says. "Just don't merge until there's a sparkling."

"Figured that much," Jazz says, turning his head to kiss Blaster's fingers. "Thanks."

Blaster hums, putting a hand on Jazz's bumper. "You're welcome. Want to move to the fun parts?"

Jazz laughs, smoothly pulling out of the merge, taking Blaster's hands. "When am I going to turn down a frag from you, DJ?"

//

Cycles later Jazz lifts his head from where he's got his chin propped on his torso buttons, sensors dialing back up to full alert as pedefalls sound from outside the room.

"Soundwave," Blaster murmurs, and Jazz nods, cycling his sensors back down.

The door opens, admitting Soundwave into the room: he has an energon cube in each hand, and for that Jazz sits up completely, finding a seat in Blaster's lap as Blaster pushes himself upright - Soundwave deposits a cube into each waiting hand, then looks down at them.

Jazz grins, totally unashamed of the display they make, with paint transfers easily picked out from their wildly varying paint schemes.

"Did we break some rule?" Jazz asks, sipping from the cube. "Frag out of order or something?"

"No," Soundwave says. "Jazz: comfortable?"

Jazz does a little shimmy on Blaster's lap, then gives Soundwave a thumbs-up.

"I'd be even more comfortable if you joined us."

Abruptly Blaster's tensions skyrockets, and Jazz reaches out, smoothing his fingers over Blaster's face, cube dropped on the berth.

"I don't know what happened between you two, and I don't exactly need to know," Jazz starts. "But if I'm going to have a sparkling with you two, I want you two to try to get along."

"Not sure I can do that," Blaster says, and he goes rigid as Soundwave sits next to him on the berth, field still as open and easy to read as before. Blaster's field shuts off, completely off.

"Forgiveness: not on table," Soundwave says. "Tolerance, patience: required for sparkling."

Blaster takes Jazz's wrists, tugging them away from his face as he looks to the ceiling. "I know," he says, field reluctantly reappearing, held close to his frame. "I hate it when you're right."

"Sorry, Blaster," Jazz says.

Blaster shakes his head, then pulls himself together, reaching out to put a hand on Soundwave's arm.

"It's a good thing you don't want forgiveness because I can't muster any for you," Blaster says. "But you're right, I've been a fool. Our sparkling - " There's a flare of hope in his field at the thought. "They're going to avoid the mistakes we made."

"Correct," Soundwave says, his own field dominated by determination. "Suggestion: use provided visual as guide?"

Blaster stills, shocked - for a moment Jazz worries - before he relaxes into a devious grin. "Okay, two can play. How about this?"

"Considered, added to queue. Reminder: Jazz is flexible."

"...Are you two sending each other fragging diagrams?" Jazz asks, incredulous and amused in equal measure.

"Yes," Blaster says. "Want to join in?"

"Do I!" Jazz eels over to drape himself across Soundwave's lap, hastily putting the finishing touches on one visual and sending it: himself seated in Soundwave's lap, Blaster pressed against his back, both of their spikes in his valve.

"Frag, Jazz," Blaster says, fans clicking on. "I thought you were big on foreplay."

"We did that," Jazz says, nuzzling Soundwave's button, careful not to push any of them. "Now I want you both."

Soundwave puts a hand on Jazz's helm, between the sensory horns - a gesture that would have dialed up defensive subroutines earlier, before the merge. Now - those subroutines wake up, but he pushes up into the touch, engine purring.

A panel clicks open under him, and Soundwave gently guides Jazz's mouth to his spike.

Jazz laughs - "Not what I had in mind," and flicks out his glossae, curling it over Soundwave's tip, feeling out the ridges and panels - it's a big spike, lightly modded with running blue biolights down the shaft, more of a show than Jazz expected from Soundwave but oh, oh he wants it in his valve yesterday.

His mouth will have to do, however, and he goes down on Soundwave, humming a jaunty tune as he shows Soundwave just what he can do with his glossae - up and down the shaft, vibrate it against sensory nodes, apply a little suction - Soundwave arches, a victory Jazz is going to take home with him, and Blaster's fans are running a mile a minute, a second victory Jazz wants to savor - he pulls up, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grins.

"Enough foreplay, Soundwave. I'm going to ride you."

"Correction," Soundwave says, monotone not enough to hide how badly he wants this - "Ride myself, Blaster."

Blaster moans at that, resets his vocalizer - Jazz leans over to kiss him, trying to reassure. Blaster lets him, kisses back, finally shoves at Jazz's bumper.

"You heard the mech."

Jazz snaps a salute, grinning as he lifts himself up, valve panel sliding back - and he lowers himself over Soundwave's spike, moaning lewdly as the electric heat of charge cracks between them.

Every ridge feels - "Primus!" Jazz blasphemes as Soundwave begins to thrust, gripping his hips. "Blaster - you need to hurry up, I won't - "

A finger is placed over his lips, then pressed in. Jazz sucks on it, visor refixing on Soundwave's. He remembers to smirk, and begins to curl his glossae over the finger, meeting Soundwave's thrusts.

Blaster's out of his field of vision, other sensors tracking him as he moves behind them, audials picking up the distinctive click of a panel opening, and Jazz tilts forward on Soundwave's spike, displaying his valve to Blaster in open invitation.

"Jazz, that should be illegal," Blaster says, words drowned in static. He puts a hand on Jazz's hip, accidentally touches Soundwave's hand - discomfort flashes through his field, gets overridden by lust and determination, and then he's touching where Soundwave's spike meets Jazz's valve, pressing his fingers into the valve, making Jazz moan around Soundwave's finger.

"C'mon," Jazz says, repeats. "C'mon. If my valve isn't flooded with your transfluid by the end of this - "

Soundwave removes his fingers, mask opening up so he can kiss Jazz, cupping his face. It's still clumsy, but Jazz answers it eagerly, moaning louder as Blaster positions himself, the tip of his spike nudging against his valve. He can feel them both now, and he's eager to lose himself in the storm of three fields and the pleasure racing through him.

"I'm going to overload," Jazz says, frame trembling as Blaster pushes into him, valve tight around the both of them, pushed almost to its limit as Blaster sinks in.

"Correct," Soundwave says, beginning to thrust again, his ridges creating a delicious friction - Blaster makes a strangled beep, vocalizer shutting off as he presses up against Jazz's back, thrusting back, the two of them trying to make a rhythm.

Jazz arches, calling out as the two of them bottom out in him, overload slamming into him, whiting out his systems in an echo of the merges - he comes to with both of them still moving in him, hands on his hips, hands on his shoulders. They've got him, and they're using him.

Static's the only sound he can make now, and he writhes in their hold, desperate for more, his own transfluid leaking out of his covered spike panel, lubricants soaking the berth under them - 

Blaster overloads soundlessly, face pressed to Jazz's neck, and Soundwave isn't long in coming - Jazz has never heard him groan like that before, and his mouth is open so Jazz leans forward to kiss it.

Soundwave's hands leave his hips to migrate further back, and Blaster melts forward, reaching under Jazz's arm to put a hand on Soundwave's chest.

The moment stretches, stretches, finally breaks as Blaster curls his arm around Jazz's waist.

"Rest," Soundwave murmurs - Jazz can feel Blaster's nod through his back, and the two of them carefully pull out of Jazz, laying him out in the berth before they press up against him, keeping him between them.

Jazz basks in the feel of their fields, dimming his optics.

"Suggested," Soundwave says, voice nearly reverent. "Repeat, often?"

Blaster laughs, reaching out to touch Soundwave's arm again. There's something happy in his field, some tension gone - the problems aren't solved, but some dam's been broken.

"As often as Jazz wants," he says.

"So as often as you want," Jazz says, engine purring again. "Try not to break me."

That gets him two doses of protective flares, which gets Soundwave and Blaster to look at each other, and Jazz laughs happily.

"Our sparkling's going to be safer than Prime," he says, and in comes Soundwave for another kiss, then Blaster, the two of them taking turns.

"Correct."


End file.
